


Cooking for Three

by tantamoqwrites



Category: Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 00:49:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5607448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tantamoqwrites/pseuds/tantamoqwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"'And by the magistrate, as equally useful. And thus toleration produced not only mutual indulgence, but even religious concord”, and that’s as much as I can manage. Seriously, Tem, this has to be one of the worst ones yet. Tomorrow I get to choose,” said Laurence, firmly closing the battered copy of The Decline and Fall of the Holy Roman Empire they had found in a charity shop, and leaving it in the bedside table. Tem nodded, with a serious face, and burrowed himself in the covers. Laurence kissed him on the forehead and smoothed his head out of his face. “Goodnight, my dear.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cooking for Three

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iamslytherlocked](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamslytherlocked/gifts).



“’The policy of the emperors and the senate, as far as it concerned religion, was happily seconded by the reflections of the enlightened, and by the habits of the superstitious, part of their subjects. The various modes of worship, which prevailed in the Roman world, were all considered by the people, as equally true; by the philosopher, as equally false; and by the…’” Laurence tried to smother a yawn, unsuccessfully. He looked down, hoping to find Tem sleeping peacefully, only to find him regarding him intensely, very much awake.

““By the what?”

““And by the magistrate, as equally useful. And thus toleration produced not only mutual indulgence, but even religious concord”, and that’s as much as I can manage. Seriously, Tem, this has to be one of the worst ones yet. Tomorrow I get to choose,” said Laurence, firmly closing the battered copy of _The Decline and Fall of the Holy Roman Empire_ they had found in a charity shop, and leaving it in the bedside table. Tem nodded, with a serious face, and burrowed himself in the covers. Laurence kissed him on the forehead and smoothed his head out of his face. “Goodnight, my dear.”

“’Night, Daddy,” came the muffled reply, as Laurence turned off the lamp and closed the door.

 

* * *

 

Laurence brushed his still-wet hair while sleepily looking at the ties. He picked up a bottle green one, checked his watch.

“Tem, it’s quarter to seven!” he bellowed, through the open bedroom door, into the flat and, hopefully, past the closed door of Temeraire’s room.

He was finishing the knot on his tie when he heard the sleepy complaints as Tem made his way into the kitchen. He smiled, looked at himself in the mirror to be sure everything was in place, and made his way into the kitchen, where Tem was sitting sullenly at the table, with his uniform trousers and his pyjama shirt. Laurence ruffled his hair as he walked by.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked, as he poured some coffee into a cup and some orange juice into a glass. From behind him came a muffled response, Temeraire had dropped his head into his arms. Laurence put a few pieces of bread into the toaster and turned around, holding his cup of coffee and regarding his son pensively.

“I know you’re nervous” he said, as Tem lifted his sleep-ruffled head and stared at him with big eyes, “but it’s going to be better than the last school, I promise.” He hoped, at least.

“But it’s January! Everyone will know each other…”

“Soon enough you’ll know them too, my dear”, he said reassuringly, as he placed buttered the toast. Temeraire eyed him with more scepticism than a six-year-old should be able to muster, before munching the toast he was handled purposefully.

Laurence took an orange out of the fridge, which was covered in drawings (him and Tem on a cloud; on a mountain; seemingly floating in front of a red-roofed house; a smudge with a helpful note next to it which pointed out it was a beetle) and pictures they had taken over the last few years (Tem in his grandparent’s garden, playing with a dog twice as big as he was, grandma laughing in the background; a picture with Edith, a huge hat covering half her face but not her smile, as she held a young and plump Temeraire; Iskierka’s third birthday, in which Temeraire was sullenly playing with a toy boat she had been given while the birthday girl grinned to the camera, her little crown barely standing atop her curly hair and a huge pile of presents at her feet), and he ate it quickly, suddenly conscious of the time.

In less than fifteen minutes they were both outside the house, Temeraire’s hair slightly ruffled still but somewhat presentable, both their shirts tucked in, teeth cleaned. The new school was nearer than the last one, barely ten minutes away from the Tube station, something which Laurence was grateful for, as he had about enough time to drop Temeraire in school and make into work in time.

He gave him a hug and a kiss in the forehead before pushing him slightly into the gates of the new school, which was smaller and had more trees than the last one. Laurence stood among the parents, mostly young mothers, until he saw his son safely inside the doors of the school. He then turned around, smiled at the fellow parents without meeting anyone’s eyes, and rushed towards the station. He checked his phone while he was waiting in the platform, making use of the last precious minutes of signal, and quickly read his work mails, organising the morning in his head. He had one personal email which did not seem to be Sainsbury’s propaganda, John Lewis offers, or anything similar. He finished reading it as the Tube pulled in and people started pouring in and out, moving like clockwork. Laurence did not curse when he finished reading it, but he did frown while he placed his phone back in his pocket. His babysitter had cancelled on the last minute, claiming some vague excuse, and he was in the middle of an unavoidable project at work, Jane would not be happy if he had to leave early. Laurence went inside the wagon, bent almost double as the doors closed in behind him – he had waited too long in the platform and all the available space had been filled up, he was pushed against the doors – and drafted a text that he hoped would not be asking too much. He sent it in the next station, sighed, and tried to stay out of the way of violent, angry London commuters.

 

* * *

 

Edith had answered by the time he was coming into work, which was remarkably early for her. She would pick Temeraire up from school, no problem, will take him into the studio, he has a fantastic eye for colour, you can take me out for dinner sometime, kisses, E. Laurence smiled. They had met while in Cambridge, and, after briefly dated, decided that being friends suited them both better. While Laurence bounced from consulting company to bank, always surrounded by soulless, suited men, she had bought a refurbished warehouse by the river and started painting. She was now, a little more than a decade later, relatively well-known. She was the one that had encouraged him to change jobs, among other things in his life, and although the new one did not pay as well, it was relaxed and flexible enough that he could work from home half the time and spend time with Temeraire.

Someone patted him on the shoulder, not hard enough to stagger him, but enough to wake him up. He turned around and smiled.

“Will! How’s it going?” said Granby, his Newcastle accent still strong despite many years living in London, “Good weekend?”

“Not bad, John. First day of school, so, you know, a little tense,” Laurence smiled as they walked into the office. Granby dropped himself in the chair in front of him.

“I know what you mean… Princess has been stressing out about it for the whole weekend, it’s been a complete nightmare,” he sighed. “The office feels like heaven, all quiet, you know? I’m sure I’m not supposed to think like that, but…” He winked at Laurence, before turning away and starting chatting to those sitting around him.

Laurence shook his head, smiling. Iskierka was about a year younger than Temeraire, although about five times as difficult. Temeraire could not stand her, but Laurence enjoyed spending time with Granby and Little and so he had a couple of stern chats about patience and acceptance of other children, and now Temeraire was sullen but quiet whenever the five of them met up for an afternoon.

Laurence started to work as he sipped his second coffee of the day, chatting from time to time with his co-workers. Everyone was complaining and for once he could join in, how he suddenly needed a babysitter with about two days’ notice, and word got around. By lunchtime, someone knew someone who knew this guy who was very good, and Laurence found himself munching on a sandwich which was slightly dry and had too much mustard in it, holding a piece of paper with the word ‘Tharkay’ written next to a phone number.

 

* * *

 

Edith kissed him on the cheek as he was carrying Temeraire out of the door, asleep in his arms.

“Thanks again, darling,” said Laurence, and she shook her head.

“As always, Tem is a pleasure to be around. This new painting we started looks really very good, I’ll show it to you next time you come for dinner,” she smiled, “or maybe I’ll keep it a surprise, who knows. Take care, Will.”

She closed the door behind him with a smile. The taxi was waiting for them downstairs, and Laurence climbed in, Temeraire still in his arms.

London lights blurred around them as they drove through, the remnants of Christmas decorations still in some windows, as were the remnants of the truly depressing first snow, now no more than grey lumps against the buildings. Laurence yawned and tucked his jacket closer around Temeraire, who was fast asleep in his lap.

Once Temeraire was in bed, Laurence made himself an omelette with some leftover, rather sad-looking vegetables from the bottom of the fridge. He listened to the radio while he ate and tidied up the kitchen, and when he finished, he stared at the piece of paper while he sipped at a too-warm tea. He checked his watch and phoned, before it was too late.

 

* * *

 

They met Tharkay two days later. It was one of the days that Laurence had worked at home and had been able to pick Temeraire from school. He, and all the other children, had run out of the school barely a minute after the bell had rung, screaming like demons from Hell. Temeraire had spotted Laurence fairly easily, being a good head and a half taller than the rest of the parents, and he had run at him and hugged him fiercely while Laurence laughed.

He seemed to be settling in well at the school but, despite the fact that Temeraire did not have trouble talking to him about everything else – “there was a beetle in the playground today, Daddy, but it flew away before I could catch it!”, or “we had our first maths class today, and it was really boring, no one knows how to count properly, and they can’t add numbers yet!”, or “Daddy, did you know that the only way of knowing how old a tree is is by killing it and counting the rings?” – he was not particularly forthcoming on issues regarding his fellow classmates, or his progress in school. Despite the fact that he was fiercely intelligent and had grown bored of most children’s books a few years ago, preferring instead to read about sciences and animals and numbers, he was behind in writing and reading, which frustrated him to no end. At the behest of his mother, Laurence had sought another school where they could help him advance at his own pace. Laurence had researched for hours, feeling increasingly inadequate at his inability to make a decision, the crushing feeling that he was somehow failing Temeraire coming back up to his throat. Finally, he had settled on a local school, and was still waiting for the result of his effort. Grabbing Temeraire’s hand so that he wouldn’t run all the way into a car, he thought that at least Temeraire seemed happier than he had done in his previous school.

He had helped Temeraire complete his homework, or rather, he had read the paper and sipped at his tea while Temeraire insisted that he did not need any help, _thank you_ very much, Dad. And now, almost five o’clock and already dark, they were both sitting on the sofa, pretending to watch the telly but instead waiting nervously for the doorbell to ring.

“If you don’t like him, I can find someone else”, said Laurence, although he knew he had said it many times over the last hour. Temeraire rolled his eyes, and was about to say something when the doorbell rang, and Laurence stood up and pressed the button which opened the downstairs gate, while Temeraire turned off the television and fidgeted near the door. A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door and Temeraire, tiptoeing to reach the higher lock, opened the door to the man called Tharkay, who looked around and then down in confusion. He had bags under his eyes and the coat seemed to be slightly too big for him, but nice shoes and a confident air around him which surrounded him like a cape.

Laurence straightened himself from the arm of the sofa from where he had been leaning, and came forward.

“Hi, welcome. I’m Will Laurence,” he shook his hand; Tharkay had a strong grip and was about to say his own name when Temeraire decided he had waited long enough and introduced himself.

“I’m Temeraire, I’m six and a half, and it is very nice to meet you”, he said, straightening himself to his full height and, looking very serious, extended his hand. Tharkay, who had released Laurence’s hand, shook it solemnly, only the barest smile on his face, which Laurence thought looked more like a smirk.

He waved towards the sofa.

“Would you like a tea?” he asked, feeling slightly nervous. Tharkay nodded.

“Black, one sugar, please,” he said. His accent, Laurence noted with surprise, was softly Scottish, but difficult to place exactly. Laurence smiled as Temeraire sat himself in his favourite armchair and regarded Tharkay solemnly. While he was making his way into the kitchen, he heard Temeraire.

“Today we were looking at the map of the _world_ , and everyone said I’ve been to lots of places. Have _you_ been to lots of places?” he said, with the tone he used when he was unsure about the person he was talking to, and therefore wanted to sound as intelligent as possible. Laurence chuckled to himself, and put the kettle on.

When he came back with two teas and a glass of fruit squash, Temeraire was no longer sitting stiffly in his armchair, but had crossed his legs and put his chin in his hand, enraptured.

“Well, there was one time that I visited the steppes of Mongolia, and the man who was teaching me the language also taught me how to train an eagle, so that’s how I learnt.” Temeraire was speechless.

Laurence set the tray in the table, and passed the tea to Tharkay, who accepted it in the middle of his description of winter in Mongolia. Laurence, who knew perfectly well what the shine in Temeraire’s eyes meant, made himself comfortable and listened to Tharkay’s stories about his travels. For someone who must be of an age with Laurence, he had travelled remarkably widely, Laurence thought.

He asked a few questions of his own, most of which were answered curtly in as few words as possible, before Tharkay returned his full attention to Temeraire. Laurence felt like frowning, and instead drank more deeply of his now-tepid tea, unwilling to let himself be rude. In the end, he cleared his throat.

“Tem, my dear, I’m sure Mr Tharkay has better places to be this late, and your bedtime is fast approaching, young man.” He stood up, and was pleased when Tharkay did the same. “Thank you for coming, it’s been a pleasure,” he said, coldly, extending his hand again, “I’ll be in touch soon.”

He led him to the door and, after Tharkay had solemnly shaken Temeraire’s hand, he left. As soon as the door was firmly closed, Temeraire clung to his jumper.

“Daddy, he’s perfect! He knows six different languages, even Chinese! And he has travelled and he has a funny but not, like, funny accent, and, and…” Laurence put his hand upon his head.

“Yes, I know… I’ll think about it”

“But Daddy, he’s _perfect_! He’s so much more fun than the other ones… I’m sure he wouldn’t make me play with finger puppets,” he added, quietly and remorsefully, and Laurence chuckled because he remembered that particular fiasco as well.

“Well, maybe if you don’t complain too much about my choice of dinner tonight I will think about it…” Laurence walked into the kitchen, followed closely by Temeraire.

“Oh, no; oh, no… it’s not mashed potatoes and sausages again, is it? Oh, please, no, it’s so boring…” Temeraire sat himself down at the kitchen table and pursed lips. “You like the most boring things in the planet, Dad.”

Laurence laughed to himself as he took the sausages out of the fridge and started cooking.

 

* * *

 

Weeks passed. Laurence’s new project led him to work more closely with Jane, which was always a little awkward after that one Christmas Party where they both drank a bit too much and ended up at her flat, a mere month before she was promoted and became her boss. On the bright side, Catherine and Matt were also in the project, and Laurence enjoyed working with them despite the occasional knowing wink during group meetings. Temeraire seemed to be doing well in the new school, if his lack of complaints and occasional emails from his teacher were to be trusted. He was excited about parent’s evening (“and you’ll get to see my desk, Daddy! I can see trees from it!”), much more so than Laurence, who always felt rather young and inexperienced, not to mention alone. Being confronted by a married couple, whose stares would pierce straight into his chest, asking pitying questions about “the child”, and the lack of a “mother’s influence” just made him feel angry. He was careful not to let it show, and instead answered mildly in a way that satisfied no-one.

Meanwhile, Tharkay picked Temeraire up three times a week, helped him with his homework and entertained him until Laurence came home, tired and hungry. They would exchange a few words in the entrance, and then Tharkay would leave with a nod and a smile for Temeraire, and Laurence made dinner while listening to Temeraire talking about all the wonderful things Tharkay had done that day.

“Tenzing, huh?” he said the first time he mentioned his name, while setting a plate of rather runny curry in front of Temeraire.

“Yup! He apparently has another name or something, but Tenzing is the name he uses. I think it’s pretty cool,” Temeraire took a forkful of the curry and immediately smiled. “It’s spicy!”

Laurence, who tried a much smaller bite, reached immediately to the pot of yoghurt which he had taken out as a precaution.

“My goodness, so it is. Too spicy?” he said after swallowing a mouthful of yoghurt, his eyes still watering.

“Perfect!”

“Oh, good” sighed Laurence, sadly and insincerely, wiping his nose and resigning himself to another Temeraire-chosen recipe.

When Tem had moved on from mushy baby food, Laurence had started cooking what he thought children liked: fish fingers which were more batter than fish, smiley potatoes, Spaghetti Bolognese with the pasta cut into little bits for ease of eating, that sort of thing. His parents had a cook when he was growing up and he never got to experience any of those foods. However, when Temeraire was five, Edith took them to a Thai restaurant she knew and that evening was the beginning of the end of Laurence’s taste buds. From then onwards Tem had decided that spicy foods were the only foods worth having and, lacking the ability to cook, made Laurence do them for him while he sat in the kitchen counter and directed his efforts. Laurence’s own experiences with spicy food being a curry he had once in a pub, which tasted more of plastic than anything else, and a dubious takeaway when he was nineteen, he had purchased a series of cookbooks, and since then they had worked, or in his case sniffled, their way through them a few times a week.

Temeraire finished his dish in record time, more like a vacuum than a child, and Laurence ate a few forkfuls of his, already looking forward to the few biscuits and cheese he would have after Temeraire was asleep, and set the rest aside. Temeraire ran away from the dishes, as usual, and Laurence sighed.

When he finished filling the dishwasher and went through to the living room, he found Temeraire sitting cross-legged in the sofa, concentrated on a book. He looked up when Laurence entered the room, and smiled a toothless smile – his first tooth had fallen the previous week.

“Tenzing gave it to me! It’s about his mum’s country, Nepal, look!” The book was big and heavy, and Laurence sat in the sofa next to Temeraire so they could both look at it together. It has large, beautiful pictures text which was short enough that Temeraire had little problem with it. Laurence smiled, and listened to him as he read it out loud, slowly and carefully.

 

* * *

 

“Ok, everyone, we’re going to have to stay a little longer today,” Jane sounded tired, but then again, they all did. The project had been running into problems for the last few weeks, and although today was the first day that actual overtime would have to be made, everyone had been staying late for the past month or so. Catherine sighed and slumped into her seat, her pregnancy just beginning to show, and Matt grumbled something under his breath. John frowned, but did not say anything, and Laurence was mentally recreating the conversation he was going to have with Tharkay over the phone. Laurence and him had spoken briefly, in the five minutes in which Tharkay was picking up his things and Laurence was leaving his on the floor. He continued to be quiet and almost sarcastic around Laurence, as if there was something about him that Tharkay disliked. It annoyed Laurence, of course, but Temeraire was so happy with him that he did not have it in him to complain. It was not often that Temeraire had more than one or two good comments to make about the babysitters, who cooked bland food and made him colour in books, which, for Temeraire, was a very pointless exercise.

“Is it going to be alright?”, he asked, once again, just to be certain, a few minutes later over the phone. “I know that you’re busy some evenings, so I could try to find someone else…”

“It is fine, as I said,” came the reply, curt and to the point. “I’ll get dinner done and put him to sleep by half seven.”

Laurence nodded, then realised he hadn’t said anything, and quickly voiced his thanks.

“See you tonight”, and there seemed to be the barest hint of a smile in the comment, but it might have been sleeplessness speaking, and before he could say anything else, Tharkay had hung up.

The work was long, and dull, and everyone was in an irritable mood when Jane finally let them go, half an hour earlier than expected, because “it’s not like you’re doing anything worthwhile; Matthew, don’t think I didn’t see that Solitaire screen, man”. They all left the building together, walking towards the Tube station, where they all separated into the different corners of London.

Laurence waited in the platform, looking at the advert in front of him without focusing. He loosened his tie, which had stayed perfectly knotted for the whole day, and ran a hand through his hair, sighing. He had been spending long nights working after putting Temeraire to sleep, overcompensating in the hope that it would lessen his feelings of guilt over not being in the office as much as his other colleagues. He was glad it was Friday, it had been a long week. Parent’s evening had been less of a disaster than in the previous school, but worse in many ways. The comments were of the same vein, but more insidious, concealed in well-meaning wishes and concerned words. Even the teachers had been surprised when they found out he was a single parent, and not just a divorced dad with joint custody. But, brushing everything else aside, Temeraire, he’d been told, was doing very well and seemed to fit in with the rest of the children, and really, that’s all that mattered in the end. Laurence had squared his shoulders and stood up straight and very politely but very firmly declined the offer of tea before making his way out of the stuffy environment.

The train was pulling into the platform, ruffling his hair. Laurence yawned, made space for the people going out, and entered the Tube, avoiding pushing anyone in the cramped space and finding a seat. The stations blurred into one another as Laurence dozed with his eyes open. He was not even trying to make himself smaller so as to give more space to the people around him, and no one, for once, seemed to mind. He almost missed his stop, blinking at the name a few times before it clicked in.

By the time he was home, the cold air had woken him a little bit, although as he opened the door he was picturing the cup of tea he was going to hold in his hands in a few minutes. The scene that greeted him when he went in through the door was rather different.

Their living room had been taken over by a blanket fort, covering the sofas and seats, with cushions strewn on the floor and what possible was the Christmas tree fairy lights pinned to the sheet that made a roof. From within it came Tharkay’s voice, softly reading what seemed to be part of _Arabian Nights_. Laurence closed the door quietly.

“May I come in?” he said, putting his head through the opening, and Temeraire yelped excitedly.

“Daddy! You’re home!”

Laurence smiled and tried to fit within the fort, with Temeraire climbing over him, which made it even more complicated. Tharkay was crouching on one end, a lamp in his hand and a book in his lap, and a slightly bewildered look on his flushed face.

“Ah, Laurence, I thought…”

“Oh, do please continue. I think this is one we haven’t read yet,” said Laurence, as he tried to make himself comfortable.

In the end, they ended up sprawled across half the fort, Laurence’s socked feet almost touching Tharkay’s knees. His blush had deepened at this, but there was not a lot of space and Temeraire was asking for the story to be continued. Laurence tried to get his feet out of the way, but only succeeding in brushing them against Tharkay’s leg, which made him stammer. Laurence stopped, then, and busied himself with petting Temeraire’s hair and not looking at Tharkay, feeling his own face blush. Tharkay finished the story with a strangled voice, and Laurence stood up, waking up a sleepy Temeraire.

“Come on, my dear, time for bed.”

When he came back, Tharkay was midway through folding the sheets. Laurence was about to speak when Tharkay cut him off.

“Look, I’m sorry about this. I thought it would be a good idea, but…”

“No!” cried Laurence, with more force than he intended. “I mean, ah, no, it was great, really, Tem really enjoyed it.”

“But the sheets…” said Tharkay, lifting an eyebrow, “some of them are silk, I only noticed it by the end. I’m sorry.”

Laurence waved his hand, dismissively, and busied himself folding the rest of the blankets.

“It’s fine, they don’t, well, they don’t get used much. Present from my mother when we moved in.” He smiled, ruefully.

They finished folding the blankets and the lights in a silence that was slightly awkward, but less tense than it used to be. Laurence, his arms full of folded blankets, looked back from his bedroom doorframe to look at Tharkay, who had his hands in his pockets and did not know what to do with himself.

“Would you like to stay for a drink?” asked Laurence, finally. “I was wanting a cup of tea myself, but there’s stronger stuff in the cabinet. Make yourself comfortable, please.”

And left the doorframe before Tharkay would have a chance to reply. When he returned to the living room he found two cups of tea waiting in the coffee table. Tharkay was putting _Arabian Nights_ back in the bookshelf.

“Thank you,” sighed Laurence, sitting down heavily into the sofa and reaching for his tea. Tharkay sat in front of him. “Thank you,” said Laurence again, looking at him this time. “I haven’t had the chance to tell you yet, but Temeraire has been incredibly happy with you, he really has. It means a lot.”

Tharkay nodded and smiled slightly, still a bit cynical but softer than the first time he’d seen it. Laurence forced himself to look away from his mouth.

“He’s a very special child. Today he was showing me his Chinese,” he looked at Laurence quizzically. “It’s very good, for such a young child.”

“Yes, well.” Laurence averted his eyes, suddenly nervous. “I didn’t want him to lose sight of his heritage just because he was brought up with me. I thought it’d be important to him, if not now, perhaps in a few years.”

“He said you spoke it too.” It wasn’t a question.

“Only a little,” Laurence laughed, rueful. “My father decided when I was in school that it was the language of the future and made me and my brothers learn it, and I did it again in university. I still remember a bit, but not a lot.”

Tharkay nodded, thoughtful, and drank his tea. He smiled over his smoking cup.

“You’re quite full of surprises, Laurence,” he said, quietly. Laurence coughed.

“Please, call me Will,” he said as he took a fast sip to cover his blush.

“Will it is, then,” and there was that smirk again. Slightly cynical, slightly mocking, but with something else. Laurence aggressively drank his tea.

They were finished soon enough after that, and Tharkay rose to leave.

“Goodnight, Will,” he said, as he put on his coat. He smiled, and closed the door behind him.

Laurence felt like a fish out of the water. He put one hand on the wall and the other one over his eyes.

 

* * *

 

Over the next few days, Laurence continued to be late, often past Temeraire’s bedtime. The project would be done soon, or so he hoped, every time he looked into the child’s sleeping face.

Tharkay waited for him sitting on the sofa, reading a book, always a different one. Laurence would make a tea and sit with him, mostly in silence. Tharkay would talk briefly about their day, Laurence would try not to stare at his mouth look at his hands instead. This was becoming rather embarrassing.

One night, when Laurence was waiting by the entrance while Tharkay pulled on his coat, he turned around, cleared his throat

“Will, I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while,” he said, not looking at him. Laurence panicked, straightened up, and nodded, mentally planning a profuse apology. “I’ve had an interview for a full time job and it all seems very positive. It’s not sure yet, but… Well, this was always going to be temporary”

“Oh. Of course,” nodded Laurence, feeling suddenly deflated and empty. “This is very good news, indeed. When will you know?”

“Early next week, I expect. I’m sorry if it is a bit early, but it went all rather fast.” Tharkay seemed cold all of a sudden, his voice becoming steely all of a sudden. “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t tell Temeraire just yet. I’d rather do my own goodbyes nearer the time.”

“Of course,” and just like that, Tharkay was gone, closing the door firmly behind him. Laurence had not paid him for the week.

That night he lay awake in his bed, looking at the ceiling and wondering how Temeraire would take the news. Laurence tossed in the bed, looking at the perennially illuminated London sky. He would be so upset. He turned again. He thought again about the way he said his name, as if it was a joke, but at the same time as if it was a sweet, which you rolled in your mouth. He wiped his eyes, in vain, for he could still see Tharkay’s face perfectly clearly, and the way it had closed off when he told him he was leaving. Laurence sighed. They’d find someone else, he was sure of it. Perhaps he wouldn’t be as fun, and well-travelled. He would not say Laurence’s name in that way of his, he would not have those long-fingered hands, or... He tried to think of something else, it hadn’t even been that long. He ran data in his head, and definitely did not dwell on Tharkay’s mouth, until he fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

It was Tharkay’s last week. The interview had been successful, and he was to start working for an international organisation as a translator, something which suited his skills far better than taking care of six-year-olds. At least, that’s what Temeraire said, serious and sad, when he informed Laurence over dinner on Tuesday.

“I am happy for him, Dad,” he said, apparently in an attempt at convincing himself more than his father.

“I’m sure we’ll seen him again, my dear, don’t fret,” said Laurence distractedly, trying to pierce the slippery fish with his fork.

“We will?!” Temeraire practically bounced off the chair. Laurence looked up, alarmed, and mentally ran back through the conversation they’d had over the last few minutes, and cursed mentally.

“Well, he might be very busy, you know...” but it was too late, Temeraire was already talking about all the things they could do with him on the weekends, and it was pointless trying to stop him. Laurence sighed.

 

* * *

 

This is how they found themselves sitting in a bench on a clear, cold April Saturday morning on Regent’s Park. It had been several weeks since Tharkay had left them and started his new job, this day being the earliest he was free and in the country. Temeraire grabbed Laurence’s hand with a strong grip, and alternated between looking at the entrance and looking expectantly at Laurence, as if he could make Tharkay come faster.

“He will come, right?” Temeraire sounded dubious.

“Of course he will, my dear. He’s not even late yet,” said Laurence, rubbing his hands together. April still had a bitter chill to it, and there was frost in some parts of the ground. Temeraire nodded doubtfully, and continued to scan the people that strolled through the gate. Laurence checked his watch, again, noticing that only a couple of minutes had passed since he last looked. He bit the inside of his cheek, telling himself there was no reason to be worried, none at all.

At half ten exactly, Temeraire gave an excited yelp and jumped out of the bench and ran to the gate. Laurence followed him at a more sedate pace, shouldering the bag with the, as Temeraire described them, very important sandwiches.

Tharkay walked towards them with a small smile on his face, which grew bigger when Temeraire made a brave attempt at tackling him to the ground in a hug. Laurence thought he looked better. He hadn’t realised before, but Tharkay had always looked somewhat tired, or unhappy. Now, he was walking with a spring in his pace and a new coat, and Laurence smiled at him, perhaps more broadly than what was polite.

“It’s good to see you!” he said, when he reached them. Tharkay looked at him with his smile still intact, and shook his hand.

“So it is. Shall we? I seem to recall some talk about boats…”

Temeraire ran ahead excitedly, and Laurence and Tharkay were left behind.

“How is the new job?”

“Honestly, fairly dull; but infinitely better than being unemployed or working three jobs,” shrugged Tharkay. Laurence pointedly did not stare or, as far as he could say, changed his expression at all. Obviously he was mistaken, for Tharkay laughed softly. “You did not expect me to make a living out of caring for children, surely.”

Temeraire saved him from having to answer by running back towards them.

“C’mon! There’s a queue and everything, we might not _get_ one!”

“There’s always a queue,” muttered Tharkay.

In the end they managed to get a boat without waiting for too long. Laurence slung the bag under one of the seats and lifted Temeraire into the boat.

“It’s an actual boat, then,” said Tharkay, sounding surprised. “I was expecting one of those silly swan ones, with the pedals.”

“Daddy used to row in university!” said Temeraire happily waving his feet from the seat. “He was the _best_ rower in the whole university, he always tells me— “

“I’ve never said such a thing!”

“And we go rowing sometimes in the Thames, it’s very fun. You should come,” finished Temeraire, ignoring his father in a manner that was positively evil. Laurence glared at his son.

“Rowing, huh”, said Tharkay as he stepped into the boat, sitting himself next to Temeraire. Laurence stepped in the middle, trying to both ignore the looks he was being given by Tharkay and Temeraire’s expecting smile. He grabbed the oars and started rowing, which gave him something to do.

Laurence rowed in silence as Tharkay explained the different types of bird they could see to Temeraire. Laurence took off his coat first, then his thick woollen jumper, rolling up his sleeves. Tharkay stopped mid-sentence, and Laurence lifted his eyes to meet Tharkay, who was looking at him with wide eyes. Temeraire yanked his jumper sleeve and demanded the explanation was finished. Tharkay dropped his gaze, and Laurence tried not smile.

When they returned to the boat, Tharkay leapt out first and lifted Temeraire out. Laurence, holding the boat steady, grabbed his clothes and the bag. He was about to step out when Tharkay offered his hand.

Laurence took it, stepped out of the boat, and found himself standing close to Tharkay. He could see the flecks of brown in his dark eyes, looking up, the heat from his hand and from the rest of his body. Laurence’s breath caught in his throat. He opened his mouth to mutter something when Tharkay stepped away, dropping his hand as if it was on fire.

Laurence did not look at him for the rest of the day, not while they were eating their sandwiches, when Tharkay was eating his with careful, small bites, making a small noise at the back of his throat when he liked them; not on the Tube back to the flat, when their knees brushed on the too-small space, and when his hand grabbed the handle which was in front of Laurence and he had a good opportunity to admire the long fingers, but he didn’t look. Temeraire had invited him over after lunch, on the grounds that he had _promised_. He continued to not look at him during the afternoon, while they were curled up around Temeraire on either side of the sofa, and the sofa wasn’t that big, and their feet touched, but he wasn’t looking so how could he have avoided it, really. He almost jumped out of his skin when Temeraire suddenly declared that he was hungry.

“Why don’t we cook something together?” he smiled, innocent as a May flower. Laurence grinded his teeth, Tharkay looked nervous.

“If I’m in the way…”

“Oh, no! Daddy hates cooking alone anyway.”

“Yes, yes, very well, let’s get on with it, then,” Laurence stood up rather briskly, and Temeraire trotted towards the kitchen behind him.

It was his turn to choose, and he chose his favourite curry. Laurence lifted him to his favourite spot in the kitchen, sitting in the island, relatively out of the way but with clear view of the entire kitchen.

Their hands brushed. They brushed when they were passing each other the good knife for chopping potatoes, when they were passing the boards and plates to each other. Laurence felt his hand in his back as he stepped past him into the hob. Laurence bit his lip, and tried to focus on the recipe. He cleared his throat, turned around and found himself closer than expected with Tharkay, who just stood there and smiled.

“Eh, ah, hm. Pepper, ah, please?” he asked, rather more hoarsely than he had intended. Tharkay smiled and handed him the little grinder.

Dinner turned out unexpectedly well, given the amount of thought Laurence had given it while cooking. Temeraire ate quickly and with a lot of noise, proclaiming it the best dinner he’d ever had. Laurence groaned, very low, and Tharkay laughed a little. When they were finished, Temeraire helped load the dishwasher, and then yawned, showing two more gaps in his teeth.

“Tharkay, can you read to me? Please?” he asked, while Laurence wiped his hands in a tea towel.

“My dear, you can’t ask him…”

“I’d love to, Tem,” answered Tharkay, smiling at Laurence. They disappeared into the bedroom and Laurence poured himself a glass of whisky. He went towards the sofa, stopped, turned around, checked the whisky bottle, decided that it was good enough for a Scot, and poured another glass. He left both in the coffee table, and dropped himself in the sofa. He passed his fingers over his hair, twice, before deciding this was all rather silly, and grabbed a book from the nearest surface.

It wasn’t long before Tharkay walked silently out of Temeraire’s room.

“Off like a light,” he smiled, sitting himself next to Laurence, who swallowed and nodded.

“Whisky?” good God, he sounded almost strangled. Laurence cleared his throat, and stared while Tharkay lifted the glass and took a sip. He stared at the long lines of his neck, his Adam’s apple bobbing while he swallowed, his tongue when he licked his lips.

Tharkay left the glass on the table and Laurence knew he had lost.

They kissed clumsily, the angle not right, their breath tasting of wood and smoke. Laurence opened his eyes and looked at him, and when Tharkay smiled, there was not a hint of cynicism anymore.

“I thought you were much different, I thought you’d be like the others”, he muttered against his lips, Laurence fought to keep his eyes open, to not grab him and straddle him and devour him whole. “I was quite wrong.”

Tharkay’s hands tangled in his hair, he bit his lip and Laurence stopped controlling himself. He grabbed his jumper and dragged him closer, groaned against his mouth and pushing him against the sofa, climbing on top of him. Tharkay smiled against his mouth, at least until Laurence bit his lower lip gently.

“Will…” he sighed. Laurence kissed his mouth, his neck, behind his ear, the bit of skin that he could reach dragging the neck of the jumper down. Tharkay’s hands were under his shirt, in his back, and they felt like a surge of electricity running through Laurence’s body. He moved away, panting slightly, his lips raw, and looked at him for a few seconds. He smiled.

“Not here.”

 

* * *

 

Laurence woke up with the sun caressing his face and a warm body draped around his chest. He smiled, and extricated himself as gently as he could. Tharkay groaned and tightened his grip to no avail. Laurence put on some pyjama pants and his dressing gown, looked around at the mess of clothes in the otherwise spotless room, and smiled. He caressed Tharkay’s hair softly, kissing his forehead, and left the room.

“Sunday pancakes, Daddy?” said Temeraire, watching some brightly coloured cartoon on the telly. Laurence ruffled his hair.

“Yes, my dear. Three portions, for once.” Laurence smiled.

 


End file.
